


Receiving the Iron

by EatYourSparkOut



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bittersweet, Canon-Typical Violence, Competence Kink, Consensual Non-Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Seal Breaking (Transformers), Size Difference, Sparring, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Virginity Kink, as part of gladiatorial culture, shh it's a secret, to a degree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-24 23:14:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13821498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EatYourSparkOut/pseuds/EatYourSparkOut
Summary: Unable to quell the longing in his spark, Soundwave steals what moments he can.





	Receiving the Iron

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been feeling the TFP Megasound recently, and a prompt on tumblr finally inspired me to write something~ I got a little carried away, but I kept the basic parameters of the request so hopefully you like it anon ;3
> 
> Recipere ferrum: To receive the iron (the weapon). A defeated gladiator who was refused missio was expected to kneel, and courageously accept death.

It started with the brush of a servo—innocuous, and so light as to be almost accidental.

To anyone else it might have seemed a mistake, but to them it was a signal—the culmination of a millennia old song and dance.

Soundwave wasn’t one to dispense touch casually. He knew that Megatron would never perceive the soft drag of fingers against armor as anything but deliberate, and used this to his advantage as he saw fit. For while he could conjure up several reasons as to why he might touch Megatron, none of them were lightly carried out, and few misinterpreted. Each of them contained a singular meaning—contrived from years of silent communication between the two of them.

This one was an invitation.

An initiation.

It’d been too long since their last liaison, and Soundwave had begun to feel the ache of it in his spark—as though the chill of the space they’d drifted in for so long had seeped into his frame, and begun to twist around his core. It was the reignition of a yearning so carefully repressed, and yet ultimately unconquerable.

Soundwave _wanted_.

His first duty was to Megatron—to the Cause, and the war effort—and such distractions were objectively unacceptable, but it was difficult to convince the part of him that craved more than he was allowed. And very rarely, he needed an _affirmation_ of his place at Megatron’s side—something to quell the longing which bridged into loneliness in the face of his restraint.

Everyone thought Soundwave the stoic, uncaring drone because he willed it so, but as impressive of an act it was, he had never been able to convince himself of the same. No amount of discipline or denial could completely eradicate the fact that he remained a mech, with all of the unwanted emotion that entailed.

With only Laserbeak and Ravage left for company, the loneliness crept up faster than it once had, and regardless, they couldn’t provide that which he sought. For Soundwave had wanted little in his lifetime, and nothing so much as Megatron.

His obfuscation of that fact was his greatest performance to date.

Revolution left no room for attachment, and as a result Soundwave took only that which he could afford to. He was grateful, at least, for the understanding which had developed between them over the years. Something was better than nothing at all, and while Soundwave would never dare hope that Megatron received the same level of catharsis from their ritual as he, it had served them both well.

As usual, the brush of a servo set the stage, but Soundwave would not go so easily. He never did.

After all, what was a gladiator without his pride?

Soundwave slipped away, and out of Megatron’s reach. He left him trapped in conversation with Shockwave, and the burn of knowing optics against his back followed him all the way down the hall.

______________________________________________

Cycles later found Soundwave growing restless.

A quick glance at Megatron’s itinerary had been enough to plot a route in advance, and he’d so far managed to avoid straying into the path of temptation as he went about his tasks.

His patience was wearing thin however, and the anticipation coiled low in his abdomen even as he attempted to block out the knowledge of what was to come. As he plugged his datacables in to conduct a routine security check there was a minute quiver to them, which might have been noticeable had any of the vehicons dared to look closer.

Megatron had been attempting to locate him covertly the entire day—evident by the subtle glances caught on camera, and his inability to stay in one place for too long. The fact that Soundwave hadn’t even entered his line of sight was undoubtedly frustrating, and he was sustained by the knowledge that the delay would make their reunion all the more gratifying.

He twitched as another flush of heat overtook him, and the miniscule tendril of charge was amplified by the console he was plugged into. He clutched at the edge of it as the current cycled back and trickled tantalizingly across his circuits.

Fortunately, Trypticon’s slumber was a deep one; deep enough to remain unaware of his slip, and avoid any premature—or embarrassing—awakenings. After another brief survey of the ship, Soundwave removed his cables, deciding that this was perhaps due an escalation.

Distraction made for poor work, and he’d been evading Megatron long enough that the prickle of suspense was becoming too much to ignore.

Soundwave had already dismissed his symbiotes. Fond of them as he was, their unrelenting mirth in regards to his flustered state—and subsequent teasing—had grown tiring after a time. Neither was this an affair they would wish to be a part of.

Alone, he made his way towards the back of the ship, and though his pace was unhurried, he walked with sensors on full alert. It would do no good for Megatron to catch him before he arrived at his destination, and to use the groundbridge seemed an underhanded tactic. That being said, the thought of Megatron’s expression were he to catch sight of Soundwave, only to see him disappear into thin air a moment later, was highly amusing.

As expected, Megatron’s business had taken him elsewhere, and Soundwave arrived at the training room unaccosted. A silent helm levelled at the current occupants was all it took to clear it, and as soon as the last of the vehicons had scurried through the door he locked it remotely.

Soundwave eyed the arena with approval; someone had been doing an excellent job of maintaining it, and he would be sure that they got their due.

Content with his survey, he took a seated position in the center and waited. He could warm up, he supposed—prepare for what was to come—but old habits died hard, and he doubted he would need it. Neither did he want to afford himself an unfair advantage; he was the one who had initiated this, after all.

It wasn’t long before the heavy fall of pedes outside the door heralded Megatron’s arrival, and Soundwave gazed steadily at the entrance as he used his override to access the room. As the imposing silhouette breached the doorway, Soundwave found himself stilling, his ventilations rendered as motionless as his frame.

Their gazes locked.

A beat of silence. Another.

Soundwave rose smoothly from the floor, falling effortlessly into a familiar stance. His datacables slithered out from their docks to rise in a sinister display around him, and as Megatron grinned, he made a beckoning motion.

They both knew what he wanted, just as they both knew that Soundwave’s sense of pride would require Megatron to earn it.

Megatron didn’t avert his optics as he reached behind himself to relock the door. They were sharp with calculation, and undisguised appetite, and with his enjoyment so clear Soundwave wondered not for the first time if Megatron looked forward to these encounters as much as he.

Megatron made a pointed show of removing the fusion cannon from where it sat mounted on his arm. The blade followed, sliding from its sheath with a deadly snick before being detached and cast aside.

Soundwave couldn’t deny that the sight caused his spark to wind tighter.

He held his position as Megatron approached, the slow, unhurried gait of an apex predator. Megatron was—had always been—an intimidating opponent, and over the course of the war he’d lost none of the power which had initially captured Soundwave’s attention.

As always, Soundwave was cognizant of the damage that even one well-placed blow could inflict on his frame. He had lost significant mass since the arena, and he’d had to amend his fighting style to counteract it. Reinforced plating aside, one strong hit could now compromise crucial systems, and the best strategy had become to ensure that his opponents simply didn’t land their attacks.

With Megatron’s skill set, however, that would prove difficult.

Megatron circled him slowly, and Soundwave remained as he was—wary, but prepared to meet the challenge.

A servo flew suddenly at his helm, and Soundwave ducked, dancing away and twisting to face his opponent. The strike had hardly been serious—merely something to spur him into action. Another one followed, and another, and Soundwave moved fluidly to evade the incoming fists.

As Megatron continued to deliver blow after blow, Soundwave slanted his arms and struck out in such a way to redirect their impact. Strategically placed pedes carried him through practiced motions, and he unconsciously drove Megatron back as he met him in a hot shower of sparks.

When the opportunity presented itself, Soundwave returned the barrage with controlled strikes of his own. They did little to injure Megatron, but by aiming at weak points in his armor Soundwave could make him falter, and move on the defensive to recover.

His datacables hovered in the air around him, unwilling to venture where they might be damaged. Nonetheless, they kept Megatron distracted with their imminent threat, and he feigned a strike here and there.

Soundwave’s strategy relied on being able to faultlessly predict his opponent’s moves before they occurred. Megatron had no similar need, because the sheer force of him meant that it was largely unnecessary to hide his intent, and up to the receiver to handle it. He telegraphed so blatantly that Soundwave need only look for the tensing of wires and shifting of plates which preceded a move to prepare for it.

They carried on for a time, neither of them making any significant progress in their attempt to wear the other down. Unfortunately, it worked more to Megatron’s favor, for unlike Soundwave, he had thick armor to block the brunt of the attacks, and didn’t need to devote energy to evading blows.

Eventually, Soundwave miscalculated. Megatron shifted—as though aiming to strike out with his leg—and he shifted his own weight in preparation. But he’d failed to catch the misdirection, and the movement morphed quickly into a downward slash which Soundwave had no hope of dodging.

He crossed both arms in front of him to catch the brunt of it, and as expected the impact crushed his plating, leaving behind a sizeable dent. Soundwave ignored the pain. He took the opportunity to lash out with a cable, delivering a sharp jolt to the back of Megatron’s right knee.

The joint folded, and Megatron staggered briefly before it gave out entirely and sent him to the ground. Before Soundwave could follow up, he’d already used the new position to launch himself forward.

Megatron slammed him against the wall, and Soundwave’s visor fritzed with the impact.

His cables had wound themselves around Megatron’s arm even as they’d flown back, and now they squeezed tight—until plating crumpled and forced Megatron to loosen his bruising grip. Another datacable quickly jabbed into the more sparsely armored section of Megatron’s waist; it wedged itself into a gap and began to drill. The spinning claws ripped into the vulnerable circuitry underneath, pulling free wires and tubing, and leaving a mess of torn circuity in its wake.

Megatron grunted, and under the dual assault his grip weakened further, allowing Soundwave to wrench free. He quickly ducked under the sweep of Megatron’s arms to arise behind him, but was forced to leap back as Megatron swung around with a kick.

Soundwave backed up further, moving towards the center of the arena once more.

Megatron followed with intent, but Soundwave didn’t allow him the chance to attack again. He let loose a subsonic blast, and Megatron stumbled. Soundwave’s cables whipped forward.

Now he was the one on the offensive, and Megatron the one preoccupied with blocking his assault. The darting appendages were stronger than they appeared, and one of them slipped through Megatron’s guard to tear a piece of shoulder armor loose in a spray of energon.

Megatron growled his frustration, and in an instant changed strategy. Rather than block Soundwave’s next strike he struck out in turn, seizing the datacable tight. He snatched another from the air before Soundwave could pull back, and the grip stung, but not nearly as much as what came next.

Soundwave attempted to run a current through the cables as a deterrent, but Megatron simply grit his denta in a foreboding grin, and in the next instant he found himself yanked painfully into the air. Megatron swung him in an arc, and Soundwave hit the ground in an agonizing crunch of plating.

He violently retracted his cables and struggled to his pedes. Soundwave could feel that one of his struts had been knocked out of alignment, but he had no time to assess the damage before an upward swing sent him flying across the room.

His landing was anything but graceful.

The blow to Soundwave’s chestplate had left it warped, and he was beginning to receive warnings in the corner of his visor which pointed to deeper structural damage. Pain bloomed in his chassis as he attempted to rise, and he barely managed to stagger up before Megatron was upon him again.

Soundwave was once more forced to block with his arms, and this time he wasn’t so fortunate. As he slid backwards from the force a deep fissure appeared in the outer one, sending a sharp lance of pain through his sensornet.

Megatron was damaged as well. His plating steamed in the aftermath of Soundwave’s electric assault, and energon trickled from various gashes in his plating. Up close, Soundwave could see that energon oozed sluggishly from the wounds on his midsection and shoulder, and he could tell from the way he favored his left that the targeted shock from earlier was still affecting the integrity of his knee joint.

Unfortunately, Megatron was also more capable of taking such damage, and if something didn’t change quickly, Soundwave would find himself at his mercy all too soon.

The part of his processor not currently wrapped up in the fog of battle reminded him that such had been the plan from the start, and the way the energon pounded through his lines was suddenly much more noticeable.

Megatron struck out again, but Soundwave moved aside, and before he could recover from the momentum of the swing Soundwave seized the servo with both of his own. He twisted the wrist upwards and inwards, and applied firm enough pressure that Megatron had no choice but to bend to the ground. His knee followed, striking the hollow in the center of Megatron chest with enough force that it buckled inwards, drawing a labored grunt.

Megatron’s fans ratcheted a notch higher, but he recovered quickly from his surprise, and even as Soundwave moved to slam a cable into the exposed shoulder joint—to rip loose the connectors and render him crippled—Megatron’s other servo rose to join his. It was simple for him to use Soundwave’s own strength against him as he twisted from the lock, and pulled him to to ground.

He landed on his back, and Megatron was quick to pin him down. Soundwave strained fruitlessly against Megatron’s superior mass, and his cables snaked around in a last ditch effort. A servo wrapped itself around his throat and squeezed triumphantly, and claws dug into the warped and exposed expanse of his chest—the threat clear.

In return, Soundwave tightened his own grip. He watched the realization dawn on Megatron’s face as the feeling of Soundwave’s cable gripping the back of his neck registered. As the rest of them finished winding through the gaps of his armor, Soundwave drew them tight, constricting just enough that plating creaked.

The implication was clear. Megatron could land a killing blow, but the voltage that Soundwave could deliver straight to a bot’s processor rivalled the servo on his spark in terms of deadliness. And that was discounting the force contained beneath the ones which were currently wrapped around crucial joints—poised to destroy any semblance of functionality.

It wasn’t a perfect draw, but neither was it a clearcut win.

Megatron smiled, slow and dangerous.

In the silence, their fans were almost obnoxiously loud as they futilely cycled scorching drafts of air—in an attempt to bring some relief to their overtaxed circuits. Both of them knew that exertion was only a fraction of the reason for the hot vents which billowed out to envelop them.

Soundwave’s frame was ablaze at every point in which Megatron was in contact.The damage he’d sustained barely registered as discomfort; it was easily overpowered by the exhilaration of being able to engage Megatron in combat—by the titillating circumstances of his almost-defeat, and the chance to feel the weight of a powerful flight engine rumbling above him.

He had missed this.

Their positioning conjured up memories of old matches, and visions of the arena swirled through Soundwave’s helm—of gladiators claiming their prizes in the aftermath, enjoying them on the energon-stained ground in front of a cheering cacophony of fans and patrons alike.

Ever the victor, Soundwave had been afforded the privilege on many an occasion, though he had never taken it. Neither had he allowed himself to be placed in such a potentially insulting position by losing.

With Megatron however, he relished the fantasy.

On impulse, Soundwave played one of his many clips, and the roar of the crowd prompted a startled tightening of the claws around his throat. A moment later, a low chuckle began to resonate from Megatron’s chest.

Soundwave smoothly retracted the cable from the back of Megatron’s helm. He left the others, but adjusted them to a more comfortable pressure as he conceded his defeat.

The stalemate broken, they found themselves moving together in a hot tangle of limbs, and the rough scrape of plating against plating resounded in a way which was wholly different from their spar.

Megatron would need to work for it. Soundwave wasn’t one to lie back and allow himself to be interfaced in such a mundane manner. Nor would he give in so easily.

Soundwave wanted to be _taken_.

His datacables wormed their way between the interlocking plates in Megatron’s armor, and as he allowed the filaments to unfurl they latched on to anything they could. When he released another low-level current, Megatron groaned—and the sound was equal parts pain and pleasure.

Megatron returned the favor; his claws drew curls of metal from Soundwave’s plating wherever they roamed, and energon beaded in their wake. It barely registered as pain, and only served to stoke the furnace currently housed in his armor. He played his part with enthusiasm—fought with cables and frame, and acted the resistant prize even as they rutted like mechanimals in heat.

Megatron seized his legs, and Soundwave found himself dragged abruptly forward. He ceased his attempts to lash out, and instead wound them around Megatron’s waist as he bore down.

Soundwave savored every scrape and paint transfer, and he was so very tempted to press into the delicious lines of heat which Megatron’s claws drew as they peeled away his finish. Static crawled across their plating, jumping between their frames as their charge climbed higher.

Megatron rocked into him, and the unforgiving pressure of panel against panel was enough to tip Soundwave into a minor overload. It passed easily to Megatron, and Soundwave traced it’s progress by the deep shudder which travelled his frame.

It was barely enough to take the edge off, and they didn’t stop moving even as it passed. If anything, the overload had teased Soundwave's sensornet into more of a frenzy, eager for something more... substantial.

Megatron dropped back, lowering his helm, and Soundwave’s legs were hoisted again—this time thrown onto a sturdy pair of shoulders. Soundwave twisted and spat static, putting up a fight for the sake of it. He appreciated the chance to let loose a more unruly side of him—to drop the self-control practically synonymous with his name.

Megatron's glossa swept in like a conqueror. It dragged across Soundwave’s blazing panel in one long sweep and he clawed at the floor in a desperate attempt to ground himself. Megatron’s grip was firm, and one of his servos moved to join the glossa; it wedged itself between the seams of Soundwave’s panel and exerted pressure, and the message was clear. Soundwave could cooperate, or he wouldn’t hesitate to pry it open himself.

It wouldn’t be necessary. As much as Soundwave revelled in feigning reluctance, there were other needs that were beginning to take priority. He allowed his panels to open, exposing his array to warm air which billowed up between them, and more importantly, to the welcome heat of Megatron’s mouth.

The game shifted.

Megatron’s glossa was a torment in its own right. Soundwave squirmed as it trailed a path along the outside of his valve, so close, and yet so far. The teasing didn’t relent, as Megatron continued to apply his glossa everywhere except where Soundwave truly wanted it. His biolights flickered erratically as it bypassed his node, just barely parting his valve on the next forray. If it would only move a bit _higher_...

Megatron’s teeth closed on the inside of his right thigh, and Soundwave almost overloaded on the spot. The ensuing heat ran a route straight to his valve, which had begun throbbing from anticipation and neglect. And then finally—while Soundwave was still reeling—the glossa slipped into his valve where it belonged.

Megatron made the discovery almost immediately.

Inside sat a seal, meticulously reapplied, as though it’d never been removed. The significance of it wasn’t lost to Megatron, whose engine rumbled with hungry intent.

It wasn’t every day that Soundwave chose to go to such lengths, but the occasions on which he did made for some of their most satisfying trysts. He never regretted it. Especially considering that he always opted for the ones practically riddled with sensors—something he was currently appreciating to its _fullest_ extent.

Megatron’s glossa rubbed against the seal firmly, and it gave slightly, the ecstasy of it zinging across Soundwave’s sensornet. His valve clenched down fruitlessly, and Megatron chuckled, the sound rich and dark and full of so much promise. The vibrations did little to help his state, and already he was growing slick, opening beneath Megatron’s ministrations.

A long lick across the expanse of the seal made Soundwave see stars, and his visor flared as he was repeatedly treated to the rasp of that rough glossa.

It didn’t help that Megatron’s field was thick with his appreciation and lust; the feel of it was almost cloying as it seeped under the cracks in his plating. Soundwave’s field—usually so tightly contained—was busy broadcasting its own wild abandon.

Megatron was preparing him so very thoroughly, and it changed the mood—conjured up images of the gladiators who’d taken their little pets, who’d played favorites and offered their protection. They’d seduced the unblooded fighters so easily, granting their favor in return for loyalty and _service_.

And Megatron had succeeded in his seduction of Soundwave hadn’t he? Garnering the will to put up more of a struggle was difficult when he burned for everything that Megatron had to give. His spark was much too full—a supernova contained beneath his chestplate, which threatened to spill out in a blaze of rapture.

It was just as well. This fantasy was as welcome as the last, exactly as appealing in its escapism.

Soundwave’s cables wound tighter. He directed them back to Megatron’s helm, where they could assist in holding him to the crux of his thighs. It was a minor rebellion of sorts, a reminder that he submitted by choice.

His original seals had been taken by himself early on, as a disincentive. He’d avoided the unsavory attentions of other mechs in the pits by never showing weakness, and he’d ripped the spike off the first bot who’d tried. His growing reputation had intimidated most others from following suit.

Soundwave’s general disinterest in interface during that time had been a result of both the harrying atmosphere and the poor selection of mechs available to him. Megatronus had changed that. He’d been following the budding revolutionary for some time—had read his works and admired his zeal. Shortly after their tie in the arena, Soundwave had found himself drifting to Megatronus’ quarters, and that first encounter had left the room as destroyed as their plating.

But while Soundwave’s first seals had gone to no one but himself, he’d found a satisfaction in choosing to give this to Megatron over and over again—in recognition of their mutual origins, and of his unwavering devotion.

He could even pretend, for a short while, that he hadn’t been so untouchable in the pits, and indulge in the guilty pleasure of being used, and of overloads wrenched from his frame.

Bereft of his voice, Soundwave aimed to show Megatron the extent of his desire in other ways. He arched decadently, and a large servo slipped beneath his back to support him as he pressed closer.

Megatron licked—slowly, deeply against the seal, and the soft and pliable material yielded as easily as Soundwave had. The nodes clustered around the rim of his valve were singing their own praises, and the evidence lay in the lubricant which had begun to trickle down his trembling thighs.

Memories flickered across his visor—provocation for an unseeing audience. Recordings of the quick and dirty frags he’d witnessed in alleys, of a triumphant gladiator savoring his spoils, of a mech thrown to the crowd and enjoyed in a frenzy.

Soundwave stretched taut in overload, and Megatron’s claws dug into his thighs to hold him still as pleasure wracked his frame. Soundwave’s own fingers curled against them in silent approval, but he was beyond any other form of response—too focused on the way Megatron’s glossa lavved against the seal to prolong his release.

Eventually, the tide ebbed, and Soundwave promptly collapsed as though his strings had been cut. Megatron laughed softly as he pulled away, and Soundwave couldn’t help but twitch at the whisper of stimulation. He wasn’t spent yet. More importantly, the seal had yet to be breached, and Soundwave was looking forward to it immensely .

Megatron’s spike replaced his glossa, and it wasn’t difficult for the head of it to find the hollow of his valve. Megatron rocked—once, twice—and the spike caught briefly on the rim of Soundwave’s valve before sinking in, prompting another short burst of static. He was so slick from the night’s occurrences that the initial entry proved no trouble, and as the spike slid over the swollen node clusters near the entrance of his valve Soundwave found it harder than ever to keep his vocalizer on lockdown.

Lubricant seeped out from where their arrays met, to add to the growing mess beneath them, and Soundwave found a slightly abashed thrill in the fact that the evidence of his desire—of his willingness to be claimed—was so readily apparent.

Megatron’s spike prodded the seal, testing, but not forging forward just yet. It bumped against the barrier again and again, and each contact made Soundwave’s valve ripple with undisguised want.

His engine whined impatiently, but no begging would be forthcoming. He had _some _dignity left.__

If Megatron knew the significance of this ritual to Soundwave, he’d never indicated it, but he must have had some inkling, for he knew exactly how Soundwave liked it—and how he both loved and loathed the delicious torture that dragging this out entailed.

When Megatron teased like this, Soundwave could hardly tell whether he wanted to fight or beg, but either way he ached for Megatron to stake a claim—ached like he never had in the pits.

Megatron pushed in, and Soundwave’s resistance broke with the seal—if one could even call it resistance at this point. Feigned protest was no longer a consideration—the tumultuous desire in his field thinly veiled at best—and the twinge of pain was nothing compared to his immense relief as his valve stretched to accommodate the blissfully rigid spike.

He allowed his frame to fall lax and open, yielding to Megatron’s advance. Even intimately acquainted as they were, Soundwave would never become acclimated to the way the thick ridges snagged every node on the way in; how they in turn pulsed with the heat of the stretch, and long-anticipated sensation.

Megatron wasn’t content to let him lie there. Strong servos gripped his thighs and hauled him forward, and the movement pushed Megatron deeper still—the sheer force of him splitting Soundwave open as easily as he split helms in the arena or battlefield.

Soundwave arched again—obscenely wanton—and while the accentuation of his frame was no doubt appealing, the way his plates lifted to reveal vulnerable wires was the true enticement. Megatron accepted his display, his claws creeping into the gaps to scratch against sensitive tubing until Soundwave shuddered so violently that Megatron’s fans stuttered, and then roared with renewed appreciation.

An eager submission indeed.

Megatron shifted, and the spike slid further until it pressed firmly against Soundwave’s ceiling node. Their size difference was notable, as always—the spike stretching him just beyond capacity—but the roiling heat which assaulted him as Megatron _moved_ overcame the discomfort.

He wasn’t gentle, and Soundwave was grateful. He didn’t want soft; he wanted Megatron, in all his glory and rough poetry. He’d chosen _this_ , and the slight burn of his lining—the filthy sound of lubricant squelching juxtaposed against the harsh clang of plating—it only made his spark throb hotter.

A litany of praises ran through Soundwave’s helm as Megatron kept up his unforgiving pace. His plating flared further in a vain attempt to vent heat, and in the hopes that claws might venture deeper.

His legs trembled where they clung to Megatron’s waist. If Soundwave hadn’t been under the constricts of his vow, the moans would have spilled from his vocalizer like energon from a crystal fountain.

Ectasy gripped him tight as Megatron ground hard against his ceiling node, and Soundwave’s cables coiled tight in response. As though by cue, Megatron lunged forward—into another powerful thrust which shifted Soundwave back and left marks on the floor beneath them.

The hum of Soundwave’s flight engine was barely audible against the roar of Megatron’s. His fingers latched onto collar faring in a futile attempt to pull him closer, but hunched over as Megatron already was, there was little room to close the gap. The solid cage of his forearms and the hot vents ghosting across Soundwave’s visor would have to do.

Megatron looked down on him with optics like smoldering coals, and Soundwave considered not for the first time the depth of the hunger lurking beneath the gaze. They never spoke during these trysts, but there were other things said—things which Soundwave was too circumspect to analyze.

He was distracted from that dangerous train of thought, however, by the thorough strokes which Megatron continued to inflict upon him, and the charge which crackled over their plating. Megatron drew out almost entirely, only to push in with renewed vigor, and his grip tightened on Soundwave’s thighs as he pulled him back against his spike.

Soundwave’s helm fell to the side. As more and more of his frame was engulfed by the single-minded rapture overtaking him, he stared out the observation window. It was easy to lose himself in the stars which proved them far from home, but each of Megatron’s cants ground him in reality.

His legs wound tighter in a plea—to take him, to use him, to transform his frame into a instrument for pleasure and simply let him feel.

Soundwave embraced his defeat with everything that he was. His servo finally released its grip on Megatron’s faring to fall limply at his side, and he tilted his helm back up to stare at him—beseeching with ragged vents instead of voice. Megatron took pity.

Another deep grind, and a rough thumb against his node was all he needed.

Overload hit him with the force of a mace, his frame bowing upward in a bliss which bordered on pain. Soundwave’s valve clamped down as best it could, fluttering valiantly around the length.

In a moment of weakness he permitted himself to bend the rules. On his visor an image appeared—of the two of them rutting against a wall in Megatron’s quarters after one of his victories. He paired it with a voice sample that hadn’t been heard in aeons.

“ _Megatronus_ ,” came the broken and reverent voice of the mech he’d once been.

Megatron’s engine snarled with startled arousal. His release was heralded by an appreciative groan, and by the flood of hot transfluid which quickly filled what little space Soundwave had left. It seeped out from between their connected arrays, and the conductive nature of it helped carry the remnants of Megatron’s charge across his swollen and aching nodes—prompting his fingers to curl weakly against the ground.

As Megatron shifted to pull out, Soundwave was caught off guard by a delayed surge of pleasure; it’d cycled back to him through Megatron’s frame, but not been fully realized until the movement set his nodes alight once more. He convulsed—in a lapse of control which was rare even under these circumstances—and as it burst across his sensornet he found himself releasing a stream of binary which was dangerously close to a keen.

Soundwave’s feed went dark.

______________________________________________

He woke up alone, though not in his berth. A cursory scan was all it took to determine that he’d been removed from the training room and carried to a place where he could recover. Soundwave had never made it a habit to linger, but he’d seen Megatron’s chambers enough times to recognize it.

The ache of their activities resounded in every fiber of his being—a soreness which he would commit to memory until the next time. His plating had also been wiped clean, though he would still need a good stint in the washracks later.

There were several misalignments within his frame, the more serious deviation of his chestplate notwithstanding. The dents and scrapes were largely cosmetic, and nothing to be concerned about, though he would need to see Knock Out about the rattle which originated in his midsection as he shifted to sit up.

There was nothing that he considered immediately pressing, and he appreciated that Megatron hadn’t taken him to medbay unconscious, and so obviously… debauched. At least this way, Soundwave could provide his own justifications.

Knock Out would scoff—perhaps attempt to berate him for the waste of resources in that infuriatingly condescending manner of his—but Soundwave would buff out some of the more incriminating scratches beforehand, and he knew from experience that one steady look at the doctor would be enough to shut him up.

There was a makeshift patch over the fissure in his arm, and Soundwave stared at it for a long moment. Before he could think too hard on it, his attention was redirected by the glint of blue hovering at the edge of his visor. A cube of energon sat there—full, fresh, and resting within easy reach.

He had to take a moment to remind himself that these were inherently practical decisions on Megatron’s part. His berth was certainly more optimally situated—with easy access to the bridge and medbay. The patch would ensure that Soundwave didn’t accidentally cause deeper damage to his circuitry before he could get to medbay, and ensuring that his third in command was able conduct his duties was hardly signs of a deeper affection. Neither was making sure that he had fueled adequately.

The fact that Megatron had taken him here meant nothing; the fact that he was nowhere to be found cemented it.

Megatron would never—could never—be allowed to realize that Soundwave’s interest extended beyond the physical. He’d trained himself to be content with this, and to acknowledge anything more—even the slightest possibility of returned feeling—was out of the question for as long as they remained locked in conflict. Neither of them could afford the weakness; they had a war to conduct.

And then there was the issue of… Optimus. Soundwave couldn’t bring himself to face the possibility of rejection, nor the loss of what little he had.

He leaned back again into the support of the berth.

At the very least, some of his more carnal desires had been put to rest. Soundwave had enjoyed himself, as always, and it’d been clear that Megatron had as well. For a brief time it had just been the two of them, and no outside forces to disturb their refuge.

He wouldn’t dwell on circumstances he couldn’t change. To agonize over his desires would jeopardize too much.

Nonetheless, Soundwave _wanted_.

**Author's Note:**

> To lighten the mood, please imagine Soundwave walking up to Megatron, an eggplant emoji on his visor. This has been haunting me for days. 
> 
> Original prompt: https://maccadams-filthy-fills.tumblr.com/post/168471764156/a-couple-likes-to-do-a-lot-of-seal-play-one-of


End file.
